All was still below. Boone could hear nothing to rouse his suspicions, and he believed that their trail was as yet unobstructed.
Beyond a doubt the Osages were ignorant of this unique passage, and so would only think of guarding the cave by the river side. It was but natural to think that, under cover of the darkness, the two scouts would endeavor to escape there by swimming and diving, and their whole attention would be turned toward frustrating this.
Thus Boone reasoned, and events proved that he was right.
Lightfoot completed the ascent easily, and then Boone led the way down the matted mass of grape-vines, using every caution to avoid making any noise that might alarm the Osages. Five minutes later the scouts stood side by side at the foot of the tree.
"Come," muttered Boone, "we must strike out for our friends. They don't dream of the danger brewin'."
"Mus' go tell Yellow-hair fust," doggedly replied Lightfoot.
Yellow-hair, as the Kickapoo called her, was the only daughter of Edward Mordaunt, who, on one of his hunting-trips, had found the Kickapoo senseless, almost dead, beside the body of a panther. With a kindness almost foreign to the borderer in general, Mordaunt carried the savage to his cabin, where Edith and her mother nursed him back to life. By this act of kindness they gained his undying gratitude, and it was mainly his love for them that induced him to fight against the Indian uprising, since they too were numbered among those to be massacred.
"Mordaunt has bin the Osages' fri'nd—surely they won't hurt him?"
"Injun don't know fri'nd now—only see white scalp. Kill, sure—all but Yellow-hair. White Wolf say she be his squaw!"
"The black-hearted devil! But never mind. The time 'll come when he'll stand afore my rifle, an' then he won't need no more squaws," gritted Boone, with an anger that he rarely displayed.